


Megatron Does the Lost Light

by ladydragon76



Series: Sexy Shenanigans [1]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, kink: public sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-08
Updated: 2015-06-08
Packaged: 2018-02-07 23:49:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 9,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1918758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladydragon76/pseuds/ladydragon76
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><b>Summary:</b> Title says it all.  Megatron does the <i>Lost Light</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Megatron Does Rodimus

**Author's Note:**

  * For [NK (NKfloofiepoof)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NKfloofiepoof/gifts).
  * Translation into 中文 available: [威震天上了失落之光](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3584382) by [Sansan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sansan/pseuds/Sansan)



> **‘Verse:** IDW  
>  **Series:** None  
>  **Rating:** NC-17  
>  **Characters:** Megatron/Rodimus, Megatron/Ultra Magnus, Megatron/Swerve, Megatron/Whirl, Megatron/Ratchet, Megatron/Mirage, Megatron/Tailgate, Megatron/Nautica, Megatron/Bluestreak, Megatron/Brainstorm, Megatron/Trailbreaker(Trailcutter)  
>  **Warnings:** Sticky, PWP, Public Sex  
>  **Notes:** I bet if I made a list I could guess who would end up being my top three enablers. Y’all can blame this one on NK again. She said, “I'm surprised nobody's written Megatron Does the Lost Light yet.” So then this happened. Please don’t expect much at all from this fic, it’s smuty crack. Cracky smut. Something. Yeah.

“I am expected to do what?” Megatron asked, rather surprised. Did they really want that? Really?

“Uh, yeah,” Swerve said, nodding. “Rodimus started it. Think pretty much everyone got a turn.”

Skids nodded. “Something about building bonds with the crew.”

“Really? That sounds nice,” Nautica said. “Is it just the captain, or all the newbies?”

“Captain,” Trailcutter replied, then smacked a hand over his face. Brainstorm reached over and cracked him upside his helm too.

“What are we talking about?” Rodimus asked.

Swerve slid a drink across the bar to Rodimus, and replied, “Megatron’s gotta clang everyone.”

“Oh! I should do it again too, huh?”

“ _No!_ ”

Megatron watched his co-captain’s lower lip poke out in a pout, and clapped a hand on his shoulder. “You can be first.”

Swerve grinned. “I’ll get you an itinerary together.”

Megatron thanked Swerve, then tugged Rodimus along. “I have an idea that you might enjoy,” he said, leaning down to murmur the words by Rodimus’ audial.

“Oh yeah?”

“Mn. I know of your… disinterest in other authority figures.” Megatron pushed the lift buttons, and rode up to the deck that held all the command offices.

Rodimus was in full sulk by the time they stepped out of the lift. “So what? In my office? In yours? Cuz I’ve done it in mine, and that’s not very exciting, and I don’t see how it’d be all that more exceptional in yours. Whoa! Hey! That’s Magnus’ office, we’re not- _Ohh_!”

Megatron smirked as Rodimus dashed into Ultra Magnus’ office ahead of him. “More excited now?”

Rodimus chuckled, and propped his aft on the front edge of Ultra Magnus’ desk. “Pits, yes. Insta-hot.” He leaned back, balancing on one hand and beckoning with the other. “Don’t get shy now.”

“I am anything but shy.” Megatron strode across the office, panel opening as he moved.

Rodimus whistled at the sight of his spike and lifted his knees, his own cover retracting to expose his valve. The scent of lubricant hit the air, drawing a low, hungry growl from Megatron.

“You get the dubious honor of being the first mech I’ve ‘faced in a _very_ long time.”

“Really?” Rodimus asked. “I mean, you and Optimus didn’t hit it before going your separate ways?”

Megatron blinked. “Did you really just ask me that?”

Rodimus opened his mouth, but somehow managed to rethink his answer. “I said, holy Primus, I’m already totally lubed for you. Stick it in and make with the clang-clang before I combust.”

“Sexy,” Megatron said in a flat tone, but he gripped Rodimus’ behind his knees, and stepped in close to line his spike up.

“Eh, shut up. I can work it. You’ll like it.”

Snorting, Megatron thrust in, sinking deep before rocking back.

“Oh, slag yeah!” Rodimus head dropped back, optics shut and mouth open as Megatron set a hard pace.

Calipers rolled and rippled with each plunge into Rodimus’ valve. Megatron had to give the mech credit as his spike was expertly squeezed, Rodimus could ‘work it’, and rather well at that. Not that he was going to say so, the mech had a large enough ego. It was nice though, and the charge swelled, a familiar, tingling pressure building at the base of Megatron’s spike. He slid his hands up Rodimus’ thighs, then pushed them under his aft to drag him in tighter.

“Yes! Oh yeah, come on. Hard.” Rodimus dropped back, sending a pile of datapads clattering to the floor. He clutched at Megatron’s wrists, crying out now with every driving thrust.

Megatron gritted his teeth and growled, fighting for control.

“What is the meaning of this?!”

Rodimus’ optics flew open at the sound of Ultra Magnus’ voice, then squeezed shut. His back bowed off the desk, a loud, wavering note echoing off the walls. Megatron was pulled along into overload, gasping at the tight clench of Rodimus’ valve walls.

“Oh slag. Oh frag me. Oh holy Pits,” Rodimus moaned, helm lolling against the desk. “Hey, Mags!” He snickered almost drunkenly. “Mags. Megs. Mags and Megs. Aw hell, that was good.”

Megatron pulled away, turning to face Ultra Magnus, spike still unashamedly exposed. “You’re just in time for your turn.”

“My-” Ultra Magnus huffed. “That’s not a _rule_.” He gestured at Rodimus. “Just his way of getting into everyone’s berth.”

“Did it work on you?” Megatron asked, curious.

“No. It did not.”

“Almost. But then he said no, and a captain’s gotta respect a no.” Rodimus grunted as he heaved himself off the desk, knees wobbling.

Megatron tipped his helm, watching Ultra Magnus. “I will always respect a no.” He smirked. “We shall just leave you to your work then, shall we?” He hooked Rodimus’ arm, making as though to drag the mech out.

“I spike,” Ultra Magnus said.

“If you wish,” Megatron agreed.

“Sweet! I’ll just sit over-”

Ultra Magnus pulled Rodimus from Megatron’s hands and propelled him right out the door, slapping the keypad to lock it behind him. “That wall. Face it.”

“Yes, sir,” Megatron smirked, and turned toward the wall. He would never admit to the whimper- No, there was no ‘whimper’, as Ultra Magnus pressed tight against him and sank his teeth into his main energon line, then sank his spike deep into his valve.

Rodimus was going to offline from jealousy when he heard about this, and Megatron was going to be sure to regale him with _all_ the details.


	2. Megatron Does Swerve

“Hey! Welcome, come on in.”

Megatron stepped into Swerve’s quarters as gestured, and looked down at the mech. “I’m not entirely sure how this is going to work. You’re much smaller than me.”

Swerve grabbed Megatron’s hand, pulling to turn him, then planting his hands on his pelvis and pushing him back to the berth. It would have been impossible if not for Megatron’s bemused compliance. He sat when the backs of his legs touched the berth, helm tipped to watch the little mech.

“You are still much smaller than me.”

“Not a problem.” Swerve smiled widely, and pointed at his face. “Big mouth. Get it? And I’m sure you’ve heard of my oral fixation.”

“I hadn’t.”

The smile slipped a little, but then returned. “No big. I’m sure after this it’ll get around.” Swerve knelt between Megatron’s feet, and pushed at his knees. “Spread ‘em. I need to see what I’m working with here.”

Megatron obeyed, retracting his panel and allowing his spike to pressurize and extend. Such eager mechs on this crew. It was odd, but not bad. Certainly a step up from the suspicion and favor-garnering attempts within the Decepticons.

“Nice,” Swerve said, drawing the word out as he wrapped both hands around Megatron’s spike. “Oh wow.”

Megatron leaned back on his hands and watched. He could feel the buzz of arousal through Swerve’s field, and his touch was sure and confident as he worked his hands up and down the length of Megatron’s spike.

“Yeah, ok. I’m gonna need you up on the berth more.” Swerve stood, pushing at Megatron’s legs. “I need to kneel on it too, so I can get the right angle here.”

Sliding back and turning to the side, Megatron rested back on his elbows, one foot still on the floor, the other knee bent out to leave room for Swerve. The berth was dwarfed by Megatron, but it would suffice if this was all Swerve wanted to do.

“Damn. Been a long time since I’ve gotten to play with one this big.” Swerve scooted forward on his knees more, getting comfortable, hands returning to Megatron’s spike. He stroked and pumped, playing with pressure and rhythm, his own vents cycling faster than Megatron’s. When he leaned forward and finally took the end of the spike into his mouth, it was his moan that filled the room.

Megatron grinned. This was a kink he had not experienced before, but it was rather arousing to watch a mech so thoroughly enjoy polishing his spike. Only the very end fit into Swerve’s mouth, but that and his hands were more than enough to make pleasure buzz through Megatron’s circuits. He heard a click, and tipped his helm to look, and sure enough, Swerve’s spike extended.

Megatron relaxed back, letting his optics shut as he sank into the sensations. Swerve’s muffled little moans sent vibrations tingling along the length of his spike. He allowed his guard to drop some, a soft moan escaping him as well, which drove Swerve on more. He sucked harder, hands moving faster, tongue swiping and twisting over the tip of Megatron’s spike, even poking into the transfluid channel the smallest bit.

Electricity sparked across his sensornet, and Megatron’s vents caught. He gave a soft shout, all the warning he could process at the moment, but Swerve only pressed his mouth down more. Megatron lost the ability to think for a few blindingly pleasant seconds, then sagged onto the berth. Swerve was slumped over his pelvis, one arm hugging Megatron’s spike as he whimpered.

“Oh frag me, that was so hot.”

Megatron reached a hand down, lightly petting Swerve’s helm. “Exceedingly so. I’m very surprised more mechs _don’t_ talk about your skill in the berth.”

Swerve lifted his helm, and despite the visor, managing to look painfully hopeful. “Maybe more will now?”

“I should think so.” Megatron slowly pushed himself upright. “However, I believe you scheduled me another appointment in an hour? I should go clean up and prepare.”

“Yeah.” Swerve chuckled, pulling a couple cleaning cloths from his subspace. He handed one to Megatron, then wiped at his own face and chest. “Go easy on the mech though. He’s the nervous sort.”

“I will. Thank you.”

“Heh. Thank _you_ , Captain.”


	3. Megatron Does Whirl

Megatron found Trailcutter on the observation deck, alone and sitting on a bench surrounded by empty glasses. Nervous sort, Swerve had said, but Megatron thought perhaps ‘sad’ sort, and ‘in need of some comfort’ sort might be more accurate. He sat beside Trailcutter, and stared out at the stars for a while.

“My turn, huh?”

“If you want it,” Megatron replied. “I’m not interested in forcing the issue, and I do not see this as a use it or lose it opportunity.”

Trailcutter sighed heavily, shrugging. “I’m not in the mood.”

“Is that a no, or is that permission to try to get you in the mood?”

“Rain check?”

Megatron gripped the mech’s shoulder in a comforting squeeze. “Comm me if and when you’re interested.”

“Yeah.”

Megatron left Trailcutter to his own devices and rode the lift down to the crew deck. He queued up his next appointment, and frowned. Well, that should be interesting.

Whirl opened his door, and looked up at Megatron. “What?”

“I have nothing to do, and wondered if you would like to interface now, or at the appointed time, or,” Megatron replied, “not at all.”

A single yellow optic narrowed, then swept down and back up Megatron’s frame. “Meh. Why not? Ain’t like I got ‘em beatin’ my door down.”

Megatron arched an optic ridge, but followed Whirl into the room when the mech turned away. “What do you like?” he asked.

“On your back, spike out.” Whirl waved at the berth, standing beside it and waiting.

Scowling a little, Megatron crossed to the berth and lay down. “I expect to enjoy this too.”

“Think you won’t?” Whirl demanded, straddling Megatron’s hips. “Come on, I don’t have all day. Or do I?”

“Everyone gets a couple hours to keep it fair,” Megatron replied, retracting his panel. He was somewhat less than aroused, however, and it took an internal command to pressurize his spike. He reached for Whirl’s hips. The sooner the mech was moving on him, the easier it’d be to keep his spike extended.

“Hey!” Whirl smacked away Megatron’s hands. “No touching. I don’t like being touched.”

Megatron held his hands up and away, palms out. Primus. “I didn’t know.”

“Yeah, well, now you do.” Whirl’s panel clicked, and he pushed up a little, looking down. “Least ya got a nice spike. I can work with that.”

Megatron’s vents stalled as the pincer where Whirl’s right hand should have been closed around his spike to hold it in place. He was surprised at the slickness of the valve, but even the heated squeeze couldn’t quite distract him from the potential menace of that pincer. He gripped the sides of the berth, and remained still until Whirl let go and sank down.

“Ohhh… Oh yeah, that’s good.” Whirl rolled his hips, valve squeeze-releasing as he lifted and dropped his aft back down.

Megatron released a breath in a whoosh, and let himself sink into the berth a little. This was better. This _he_ could work with.

“Hey!” Whirl thumped Megatron’s chest. “No recharging. And get that big hand over here.”

The audacity of this one. “I’m not recharging,” Megatron said, lifting his helm to look at where ‘over here’ might be.

Whirl clicked his pincers. “See these? You know how hard it is to self-serve with these things? Yeah. Like impossible hard.”

Primus! ‘Don’t touch me! Why aren’t you touching me?!’

Megatron curled his fingers around Whirl’s spike, giving it a nice slow squeeze and stroke. “Better?”

“Kinda. Just hold onto it, but don’t move.” Whirl rocked forward then back, bracing on Megatron’s middle. “Yeah. Better. Squeeze a little more. Oh yeah, just like that.”

Megatron bit his tongue, fighting the urge to laugh. It was a good thing that Whirl had wanted his spike. There was something of a guarantee that he would overload that way, while he was absolutely sure he wouldn’t have been able to do so with his valve. Megatron had heard the term ‘comically loud’ before, and he had had some _very_ vocal berth partners, but he’d never heard a mech like Whirl until now.

Comically loud, optic dim to the point of almost being offline and nearly shut, Whirl had his helm thrown back as he rode hard. He thrust forward into the grip of Megatron’s hand, then slammed down and back, crying out even _louder_. Megatron felt a surge of pleasure every time the tip of his spike ground against the end of Whirl’s valve. He rolled up, hips winding in a tight circle to put more pressure on the sensitive node cluster there, and grinned as Whirl got even louder still.

Babbled curses and pleas for more, and oh yeah there, right there, slurred into a high keening.

Megatron growled as Whirl’s valve clamped tight, and thrust up harder. Bursting screams filled the room, and transfluid striped Megatron’s belly, his own overload almost second to the scene Whirl presented.

Whirl collapsed forward, vents roaring. Megatron eased his hand away, and carefully didn’t touch the mech. It took him a moment to realize that Whirl was unconscious, but then he smirked. He’d be tired after such a display himself.

Now. How to get out from under the mech without putting his hands on him, or disturbing his rest?


	4. Megatron Does Ratchet

“Get out,” Ratchet snapped.

“I’m here to offer-”

“Oh, I know why you’re here,” Ratchet interrupted. “Fragging Rodimus and his stupid policies.”

Megatron tipped his helm. “This is optional.”

“No shit, Sherlock.”

“So why are you angry?”

“It’s degrading.”

Megatron sat on one of the med berths, and leveled a steady gaze at Ratchet. “I do not feel pressured or degraded. In fact, for the most part, I’d say the experiences have been positive for all involved.” In fact the only interaction that had not gone very well had been with Perceptor. They’d tried, but didn’t get past light touches.

_”No. I still want to rip out your spark. You should go.”_

Megatron had left without argument, though he might be a little more alert when out in the open with the sniper about.

Ratchet crossed his arms over his chest and glared at Megatron. Megatron stared right back. “Say no, and I’ll leave. I’ve not pressured a single mech, and I have no intention of doing so.” He’d been relieved at Rung’s polite decline, and had given Trailcutter his space as well. He wouldn’t force this on anyone.

Ratchet remained silent, and Megatron smirked. “Normally, I would not suggest a mech take the absence of a no for a yes,” he purred, and pushed himself off the med berth. Ratchet’s optics lit, but he didn’t move, and he didn’t protest, and Megatron dared to think he’d guessed correctly.

“Shall we play a game, medic?” Megatron paced around Ratchet, reaching out to drag his finger through his energy field, hooking it with his own and pulling. He grinned as Ratchet shivered. “Get on the berth.”

“No.”

Megatron almost paused, but as he came back around, he could see how dark Ratchet’s optics had become. “Get on the berth,” Megatron repeated. “Lie on your back, and expose your array.” He paused, stopping to loom over Ratchet, and growled, “Or I will make you.” This close, Megatron was able to feel Ratchet’s energy field, feel the projected emotions, the lust. 

“Make me,” Ratchet whispered.

Megatron grabbed the medic by his upper arms, lifting and slinging him onto the berth. A startled cry echoed off the medbay walls, Ratchet’s optics wide. Megatron didn’t give him any time to recover, striding to the end of the berth and grabbing his ankles. He pulled, earning a sharp curse and minor struggle this time, but Ratchet’s legs still wound around his waist when Megatron pushed his way between his thighs.

“Open,” he ordered, tapping the array cover in reminder. Megatron retracted his own panel, letting his spike slide out over the plating of Ratchet’s thigh.

“No,” Ratchet gasped, squirming, hands gripping the sides of the berth.

“I’ll tear it off,” Megatron crooned, prying lightly at a seam.

The panel snapped open, lubricant pouring out, dripping off the end of the berth. Any doubts Megatron had over Ratchet not being willing died a sudden death. He traced his finger through the slick mess, then circled the valve rim.

“Beg.”

“Frag yourself.”

Megatron chuckled, and pushed the tip of one finger in just far enough to sweep around the first ring of calipers. “Beg me.”

“No!” Ratchet’s hips twisted up off the berth, his legs tightening in an attempt to pull Megatron closer. He whimpered, then yelped, “Please!”

“You break far too easily, Ratchet.” Megatron planted a hand on Ratchet’s belly and leaned his weight in, effectively pinning him down. “But I’ve heard far better begging in my day.” He tugged at the rim of Ratchet’s valve, then rubbed his thumb over the node cluster between valve and spike housing. “Tell me that’s not the best you can do.”

It apparently was, Megatron thought as Ratchet writhed and keened and gasped. He kept his touch just light enough that the mech wouldn’t be able to overload, but Ratchet was well beyond words, and burning hot. How long had Ratchet been fantasizing about this to be so completely lost already?

Megatron replaced his finger with his spike, still pinning Ratchet in place, and slowly pressed himself into his valve. He gasped as Ratchet rippled around him, then clenched tight, watching as the medic thrashed in silence through his release.

“Please?” Ratchet whispered, dark cobalt-colored optics slitting open. He reached one shaking hand toward Megatron.

He was tempted to tease, but that seemed suddenly unkind. Megatron caught Ratchet’s hand, and with the other held tight to his hip. He leaned in, optics on Ratchet’s face as he brought his fingers to his mouth. The valve fluttered around his spike before Megatron even closed his mouth around the first digit. Lust surged through him at the low sound Ratchet made, and he rocked his hips back, then thrust in deep and hard.

Ratchet shouted, back arching, thighs squeezing Megatron’s waist. Enough with this play, Megatron thought. Fire was melting his circuits and the lust had knotted itself down low in his belly. He set a driving pace, letting a second of the red fingers curl into his mouth. He bit down lightly, growling as desperate sounds escaped Ratchet.

Bliss coiled tighter, the charge licking higher and higher until Megatron was sure they’d both expire. Ratchet fell first, optics blazing to white and mouth open in a silent scream. His valve drew tight, then _rolled_ , pulling Megatron deeper and into his own release. Light exploded behind his optics, the world tilting wildly.

Megatron didn’t remember falling, or landing on the medbay floor, but there he was with Ratchet sprawled half over his chest.

“Thanks,” Ratchet muttered, his voice tickling over Megatron’s neck cables.

“Thank you. Are you hurt?” Megatron asked.

“No. You?”

Megatron had to check, but shook his helm. “No.”

“You ok with me just lying here a few more minutes?”

“Yes.” Megatron wasn’t at all sure he could stand just yet anyway. “Just let me know when you’re ready.”

“‘Kay. Could be a bit. Week or two.”

“Should be fine,” Megatron replied, smiling a little. He needed a nap before his next appointment anyway.


	5. Megatron Does Mirage

Megatron sat in the back corner of the bar in a booth that allowed him to see the entire room. He was under no illusion that the other patrons hadn’t noticed him, but they were thankfully taking the clue that he wanted a little time to himself.

It probably helped that he’d already interfaced with most of them.

Dismissing the thought, and knowing he had at least an hour before he was ‘on duty’, he slouched back in the seat and sipped at his energon. He jumped as something touched his knee, but a look under the table revealed nothing. Perhaps Sunstreaker’s odd little pet was playing? Though searching the bar revealed neither mech nor insecticon.

When Megatron straightened, he discovered a datapad sitting on the table that had not been there a moment ago. Thumbing it on revealed a single question in very fine script.

**Can you keep a secret?**

Megatron picked up his energon, hiding a smile behind it. This time when that light contact feathered over his knees, he let them fall open. He settled back in the booth again, pretending to be reading from the datapad. The light touch ghosted up the seam of his inner thighs, then warmth tickled along the edges of his interface cover.

A quick glance proved that no one was paying him any attention, and he thought the angle was enough that the table would hide his pelvis from casual view. Megatron tensed a little as his panel was manually opened, but relaxed just as quickly.

Keep a secret indeed. This wasn’t his kink, not really, but it was intriguing, and letting Mirage invisibly pleasure him in a public place would harm nothing. Again, most of the mechs spread around the room and huddled at the bar had seen him overload at least once and been the cause of it.

Megatron realized he was trying to convince himself that it was alright, and snorted softly. He pulled a stylus from his subspace, spreading his knees more, and allowing his spike to slide free of the housing.

A soft laugh drifted up, and Megatron’s spike was given a light lick, then promptly ignored. He jumped as what had to be Mirage’s finger traced the rim of his valve, then eased in. The glyph he’d been writing wandered off into a squiggly line as that first finger was joined by another. Megatron had only just regained control over the stylus and relaxed into the slow, exploratory rhythm when the fingers were replaced by a softer warmth.

Mirage’s tongue pushed into Megatron’s valve, twirling in maddening little thrusts that set his sensornet alight, but wouldn’t be enough to bring him to release. He glanced out at the bar, and forced himself to relax, though it was difficult not to rock his hips into the press of Mirage’s mouth. Writing was out of the question, but the wavering lines, spirals, and sharp jags told an eloquent little tale of their own.

Megatron growled, though the sound didn’t carry beyond his booth. A puff of heated air gusted over his array, then Mirage pulled his mouth away. A lithe, invisible body slithered up Megatron’s front, and he was impressed that Mirage didn’t jostle the table as he moved.

“Need more than that?” Mirage whispered next to Megatron’s audial, then nipped at his jaw.

In answer, Megatron spread his legs wider, and carefully lifted his aft to urge Mirage on. He grabbed his energon, but stopped himself from completely draining the glass. The last thing he wanted was for Swerve to come over to offer more just then.

Mirage shifted, his hands holding tight to Megatron’s shoulders, then slid his spike into a very welcoming valve. Megatron held his breath, optics flickering as nodes beyond the first ring or two were _finally_ stimulated. He slouched more, arms bracketing Mirage, but resting on the table. He’d never given thought to how difficult it would be to hold still when every molecule in his body wanted to lift into the slow drag of a spike plunging into him. Mirage was being so careful though, Megatron didn’t dare move. Too much of a forward thrust and their pelvises would knock together, and there couldn’t be but a finger’s breadth between Mirage’s aft and the underside of the table.

He really might have a new kink, because trying to hold still, trying to be quiet, seeing all those mechs out there laughing and talking, and knowing that if just _one_ looked at him now the game would be up, was making Megatron incredibly hot. He did the only thing he could do, and squeezed down on Mirage’s spike with his valve. Mirage gasped against his chest, pausing for a moment before restarting with a slightly faster pace.

Need twisted into a tight band around Megatron’s hips, and coiled itself into a hot ball down low. He alternated between stalling his respiration to keep from moaning, and cycling very careful, very slow breaths so he wouldn’t overheat. He was shaking, hips twitching despite his best efforts, and straining for the overload that felt just out of reach.

He needed to move. He needed to grab Mirage’s hips and haul him in harder, faster. He needed-

Megatron’s hand clenched tight, thumb cracking the screen of the datapad as he was finally flung over the edge. Ecstasy swept through him in surging waves and his vision whited out. Mirage made some small sound, body tensing, then melting against Megatron’s chest.

Blinking, Megatron dared to peek out at the bar, but still no one was looking. The normal ebb and flow of conversation remained undisturbed. He let himself relax, easing his grip in the datapad, and watching _through_ Mirage as a piece of the screen tinked to the tabletop.

“I owe you a datapad,” Megatron murmured.

“Nonsense. It was entirely my fault,” Mirage purred politely in return. A light kiss was brushed over Megatron’s lips, then the invisible mech eased himself out, then down.

Megatron watched as the small shard of glass disappeared, and smirked a little. Well, that took care of his next appointment a bit early. Perhaps a wash, more energon, and then he would see who was up next.


	6. Megatron Does Some More

Tailgate, despite their size difference was easy and fun. Megatron credited Mirage with the idea, and -with the little mech’s permission- pinned Tailgate to his berth and cleaned out his valve thoroughly. The sweet cries rang in Megatron’s audials, igniting his own lust, but he had enjoyed leaving Tailgate a little white and blue puddle of exhaustion too much to bother with his own overload that time.

Besides, he’d run over the time a bit, and the strange mech from Caminus was next.

“I’m a valve mech,” Nautica announced, looking Megatron up and down. “You’re really big and sexy. This could be exciting.”

“Very few mechs have been lackluster,” Megatron replied honestly. “What, besides being spiked, do you like?”

Nautica eyed him for a moment, then nodded to herself. She hooked her thumb over her shoulder. “Think you could ‘face me through that wall?”

“This is a public corridor,” Megatron said.

“Oh.” Nautica blinked and looked around. “Is that bad?”

Megatron laughed, caught the smaller mech by her waist and pinned her against the wall. “Not in the least.” Ultra Magnus had something to say about that, but he was polite enough to wait until after Megatron and Nautica were done with one another before issuing the reprimand.

Bluestreak had been interesting, and while Megatron wasn’t willing to be tied up, he did submit, quite literally, to following orders and servicing the mech as commanded. Once done, Megatron suggested Bluestreak contact Ratchet.

“Who do you think taught me all this?” Bluestreak asked with a laugh. He bounced up on the toes of his feet to kiss Megatron’s cheek. “Maybe I’ll call him anyway. Bet we’ve both learned some new tricks since the last time.”

However, no one was as… unique as Brainstorm.

“Oh frag, oh frag, oh frag. More! Tell me more!”

“Just before discharge, when the energy swell seems to plateau, time feels like it stands still,” Megatron purred against Brainstorm’s audial. He rolled his hips, grinding his spike in deep, his weight keeping Brainstorm’s chest pinned to the lab table under them. “I can feel the drain against my very spark.”

Brainstorm whimpered, fingers clawing at the table. “Nnnghhh…”

Megatron smirked, licking the side of Brainstorm’s helm. “Then…”

“Please! Oh Please!”

“I fire,” Megatron whispered, thrusting in hard.

Brainstorm went off like a weapon of mass destruction himself, his wail ringing off the lab walls. Megatron thrust a few more times, harder, faster, and found his own release, but it couldn’t have possibly compared to Brainstorm’s.

“Why,” Perceptor asked from the doorway, “are you in _my_ lab?”

Megatron pushed himself up, startled. “My apologies, I had thought-”

Perceptor waved his hand. “No. I know where the blame for this lies.”

That little exchange had not left Megatron any more comfortable than before with Perceptor, and he chose a tactical retreat, leaving Brainstorm to make his amends on his own.


	7. Megatron Does Sunstreaker

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Notes:** This chapter’s for DracoQueen22’s birthday. She spoils us all rotten with a lot of fun fics, so any excuse I can find to give back is a good one. Happy Birthday, dearheart! May the days between this one and the next be filled with all the best things for you.
> 
> Now, of course, we know that Sunstreaker left the _Lost Light_ before it launched again after the events of DC, but for the sake of smutty fun, everyone just pretend he didn’t, ok? ^_^ Also of note is that my muse apparently took this dismissal of canon as permission to run with scissors, so there’s a fair amount of my own random headcanons in here. I’m going to tuck this in as chapter 7 instead of 8 because Trailcutter’s chapter is so clearly the last one. Enjoy!

It was late when Megatron entered the training room for a little time to himself. He had expected it to be empty, but there was Sunstreaker in the middle of the mats, moving with a feral grace that made Megatron’s spark pulse and heat pool low in his belly at just the mere sight of it.

A true warrior. A fighter. Survivor.

Megatron glanced around, but the mech’s unique pet wasn’t anywhere to be seen, so he relaxed back against the wall to watch. Sunstreaker was liquid gold, twisting and dancing over the mats with his optics shut. He showed no sign that he had noticed Megatron, but the former tyrant was sure the mech knew he was being watched. He was proven correct only a few minutes later, when Sunstreaker finished his set and opened blazing aquamarine optics to stare right at Megatron.

“What?” the golden mech demanded.

Megatron almost purred, and it took more control over himself than he thought it would to resist stalking over to the mats and pulling the mech down under him. “I know we’re not scheduled yet, but since we find ourselves here and alone,” he said, trailing off to see how Sunstreaker would react to the suggestion.

“Been a while. Learned a few things since the last time we grappled.” Sunstreaker planted his hands on his hips, feet braced apart. Every line of his frame was a challenge issued.

“I’m flattered you remember,” Megatron said and pushed off the wall. “And eager to see these new things you’ve learned.”

Sunstreaker’s smirk was all confidence edged in shadow. “I remember how eager you were then, too.”

He tried to resist the shiver, but that purring note of Sunstreaker’s had always affected Megatron. His earliest days in the Gladiatorial Pits could have been a _lot_ worse if not for the vicious youngling that had snorted in derision and decided to help Megatron survive for reasons never expressed. For a long time he had been furious that Sunstreaker had left him for the Autobots, but now-

No, he would dwell on that later. Right now, he wanted that bright, hot frame against his own.

“Pit rules?” Megatron asked as he stepped onto the mat.

“Winner claims loser,” Sunstreaker replied, then launched.

He was getting old and out of practice, Megatron thought as he dodged back, only just escaping a blow that would have genuinely hurt. Sunstreaker tossed him another smirk, then dipped and lashed out again. They blocked, darted, struck, neither one holding back. Megatron had size and reach as his advantage, but Sunstreaker was fast and not pulling his punches. It was the first teasing, light caress to a transformation seam that brought Megatron’s attention to how aroused he was. It slammed into him, tore down his guard, and before he could shake loose of it, Sunstreaker dropped him to the mats. He grunted, then again as the warrior bodily tackled him.

“Pathetic,” Sunstreaker hissed, then crushed his mouth to Megatron’s.

Megatron growled, hands gripping the mech’s waist to pull him in even closer. He bit Sunstreaker’s lip, then twisted his face away from the kiss. “I let you win.” His main fuel line was bit in reprimand for the lie, sending a sharp zing of pleasure straight to his array.

Sunstreaker bit and clawed his way down Megatron’s body until sharp talons scratched the edge of his panel. “Open it, or I’ll rip it off.”

Entire sensornet tingling in anticipation, Megatron couldn’t have kept his array cover from retracting even had he wanted to. “Get on with it.”

“See. Always so eager,” Sunstreaker teased, and then plunged two fingers into a valve that was embarrassingly lubricated.

Megatron’s vents caught and his back arched up off the mat, but Sunstreaker was -thankfully- not interested in tormenting him tonight. The fingers were removed, a click echoed, and Sunstreaker leaned up over Megatron again to smile around his those same fingers as he sucked the lubricant off of them.

“Hard?” the golden mech asked, the façade of violence dropping for just that moment.

“Hard,” Megatron confirmed and pulled at Sunstreaker’s shoulders as the mech lined himself up.

“Should put you on your hands and knees, but I always did like watching your face as you lost it.” Sunstreaker’s spike plunged deep, and Megatron bit back a yelp. It hadn’t hurt, but of the few that had taken his valve so far, none had been as perfectly rough as Sunstreaker. Sharp teeth scraped over Megatron’s neck again. “No holding back.”

“Then frag me like you actually mean it.”

Oh frag, just like that, Megatron thought as Sunstreaker drove into him with a snarl. He moaned, his own hands tight on black hips as talons drew sharp lines of almost-pain along the sides of his chest. Sensation boiled through his lines, and he did not hold back. The training room filled with the bright ring of their plating meeting and the low note of Megatron’s cries. Sunstreaker’s respiration hissed in and out between clenched teeth, his energy field beating against Megatron’s with dark, hungry lust. Ecstasy rose in a buzzing tide, undeniable, and broke over him far too soon.

“Fuck yes,” Sunstreaker gasped and thrust a few more times as Megatron arched and howled under him.

They relaxed into the mat, and Megatron gave a half-sparked effort at a purr of contentment, but even that tapered off, leaving them to listen to the fast rate of their vents cycling to cool overheated bodies. Ozone tanged the air, and Sunstreaker was a pleasant weight draped over his chest.

“We could just ‘charge here,” Sunstreaker mumbled after a few minutes.

“Wouldn’t that be an amusing scandal.”

Sunstreaker snorted, and lifted his helm. “You’re ‘facing the crew, and you think anyone catching us together would be scandalized?”

“Your pet?”

“Bob?” Sunstreaker laughed, and pointed to a dark corner over Megatron’s left shoulder where some extra mats were stacked haphazardly. “He’s been napping since I signaled him not to attack when you entered.”

Megatron looked where indicated, and his optics brightened in surprise. For a moment, he could only stare at the well-hidden lump of insecticon, but then laughed and turned back to Sunstreaker. He couldn’t think of anything to say, so just caught the dark helm and pulled Sunstreaker into a kiss.


	8. Megatron Does Trailcutter

Megatron pressed the call button beside Trailcutter’s door, and waited. He had thought the mech had decided against interfacing as the last of the crew members had been seen to a couple weeks ago. Then Trailcutter had commed him and asked if the offer was still open.

Megatron scowled at the door and double checked his schedule. No, this was the right time, and the right room.

// _It’s open. Just come on in_ ,// Trailcutter said over the comms.

Megatron keyed open the door, and froze at the sight. Trailcutter sat morosely in his panic bubble, mouth drawn into a pout.

“Hey.”

“Hello,” Megatron replied, moving into the room so the door could close. “What brought this on?”

“I got the ping to remind me you’d be coming by in five minutes, and…” Trailcutter gestured at the bubble.

“This is _voluntary_ , Trailcutter,” Megatron said, and sat on the berth across from the mech. “If you do not desire me, are not comfortable with interfacing with me, then we need not do it. There are others that declined to interface with me, and I do not- _will not_ hold that against them.”

“It’s not that.” Trailcutter chewed on his lower lip for a moment, and Megatron gave him the chance to gather his thoughts in silence. “You see… I mean, it’s hot, right? The idea. And I’ve heard all the stories, and I know you’re good, and I know that absolutely no one was hurt even a little bit. Not even on accident.” He shrugged. “But it still freaks me out.”

Megatron considered for a moment. “There are other ways to share pleasure. We need not touch one another at all.”

Trailcutter blinked at Megatron. “Huh?”

How unimaginative, Megatron thought, but did manage to keep the words to himself. “I’ll show you, but I’ll still stop if you say to.” He waited until Trailcutter nodded, then settled himself back on the berth.

Megatron shut his optics and started with simple touch, as though he was alone in his quarters and in need of some tension relief. He was in no hurry at all. There was nowhere that he needed to be, no duties that needed attended to, and no one with any claim on his time. Fingers traced transformation seams and plating edges, drawing slow lines of tingling awareness along his frame. Megatron worked his hands inward and down, fingertips from both hands gliding between his legs, flirting with the seams of his panel before moving on to tease his inner thighs.

One optic cracked open at the soft sound from across the room, then closed. Trailcutter had his lower lip caught between his teeth, visor bright, and fists clenched tightly together in his lap. Megatron smiled, and spread his legs more, bringing his hands back up. One finger flicked out to toy with the manual catch for his panel for a moment before releasing it. His array cover retracted, exposing valve and spike housing. He debated for a moment, but then decided on his spike. He preferred it, and it was easier to stimulate in a visible way.

Megatron’s spike pushed out as he rubbed his thumb over the node cluster just below it. There was another sound from Trailcutter, and Megatron opened his optics. The mech was squirming, knees pressed together, fingers still knotted.

“If you wish to touch yourself as well, I wouldn’t be offended.”

Trailcutter whined, writhed a bit more, but still hesitated. Megatron shut his optics and curled his fingers around his own spike. He stroked up, thumb rubbing over the tip before pulling back down. Another soft keen, and Megatron peeked over at Trailcutter again, smirking as the mech plunged two fingers straight into his valve and started pumping. Megatron matched his pace, hips thrusting up into the squeeze of his hand.

Trailcutter arched, crying out, and lust swept through Megatron. He growled, picking up the pace and watching Trailcutter’s hand do the same. It wasn’t long before overload rolled up through him from his feet, transfluid jetting with each hard surge, and his gyros spinning enough to give the room a lazy twist and tilt.

Megatron heard Trailcutter shout with his own release, and grinned across the room at the mech. “More relaxed?”

“Uh huh.”

They both slumped where they were, and Megatron smirked as he teased his spike back to life, then worked on his valve until the lubricant coated his array with a slick shine.

When the panic bubble finally dissipated, Trailcutter launched himself across the room.


	9. Megatron Does Drift

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Notes:** This chapter was commissioned by the ever-lovely InkyBoots! I’ve actually been wanting to do something with Megatron and Drift for a while, but couldn’t think of what. Super huge thank you to Inky! ^_^ Enjoy!

Ratchet had left without a word to anyone in Command, much less _permission_. The medic had simply left. Megatron had no idea why, but couldn’t really blame the mech. They were hurtling through space in a madhouse. The very last thing Megatron had expected was for Ratchet to return. The _Lost Light_ had no set course, so it was a minor miracle he had even found them. But the bigger question was _why_? That answer came when the shuttle docked, the hatch opened, and a completely unexpected white and red mech followed the medic out into the shuttle bay.

“Deadlock!”

Blue optics blanched, dark hands paused halfway to sword hilts, and _Drift_ froze unmoving on the ramp.

“Drift,” Rodimus corrected and strode forward to crush Drift in a hug. “ _Drift_! I’m so glad you’re home!”

“Welcome back, Drift,” Ultra Magnus intoned. “You as well, Ratchet.”

Megatron stayed very still and carefully didn’t look at the medic as he grunted his reply to Magnus. He could feel Ratchet’s optics boring into him, the threat unspoken. Megatron had no intention of harming Drift, he’d just been surprised to see him after so long. There was a vague memory of the swordmech in the last battle of the war, but they had not stood this close since Megatron sent Deadlock off to be Turmoil’s second in command.

Rodimus proved useful for once and dragged Drift out of the shuttle bay while jabbering nonstop. Ultra Magnus followed at a more sedate pace after casting Megatron a look of his own.

“Do I have to say it?” Ratchet growled.

Megatron shifted his gaze to the medic and arched an optic ridge. “No, but if it will make you feel better to hand out threats before I even welcome you back,” he lifted a hand in a ‘go ahead’ gesture, “then by all means.”

Ratchet snorted. “My aft.” He jabbed a finger at Megatron’s nose. “You upset that kid in the least. I _will_ end you. It’s not a threat.”

Megatron smiled. “Welcome home, Ratchet. You’ve been missed.”

Blue optics narrowed more and Ratchet’s lips pressed into a flat line. “Mmhm.” He turned and abruptly marched out of the shuttle bay, leaving Megatron there to twist within his armor.

Handling this would be easy, really. Megatron would just leave Drift alone, be cordial when they stumbled across one another, and do his best not to be intimidating. He cycled his vents in a sigh, then headed out, spark pounding a bit harder than usual.

~ | ~

Megatron didn’t often go to the bar. It was pointless for a mech who couldn’t enjoy high grade -or even mid-grade- but this was Drift’s welcome back party and not turning up could be seen as a slight. Or a threat. Neither of which he wanted to present. For most of it, Megatron was able to sit off to the side, present, occasionally talking to others. There, but not obtrusive.

Until a drunk Getaway slapped Drift on the shoulder and shouted over the noise. “Megatron! When’s Drift get his turn?”

“Turn?” Drift asked in the following hush, his helm tilted to the side just a little. He was one of the only other sober mechs in the bar, which was good since Megatron thought he knew just what Getaway meant.

“No!” Rodimus shouted. “No, I’m first this time.”

“First for what?” Drift asked.

“You had a turn before,” Swerve said. “Megs needs a turn.”

Megatron scowled at the mangling of his name, but everyone was shouting and cheering, being so loud that Megatron dialed back the gain on his audials. There was no point trying to correct them either. He’d tried that plenty of times. Drift looked lost, and Megatron thought that now might be a good time to leave anyway. He stood, but everyone took that the wrong way. Drift was shoved through the crowd, much to Rodimus’ disapproval, and before either co-captain or Drift could react, he was in front of Megatron.

“What?” Drift asked, looking up at Megatron.

“Captain interfaces the crew,” Megatron replied, and Drift’s optics flickered. One look around at the drunken, screaming fools proved that there was no getting out of this either. They wouldn’t need to interface, but they wouldn’t be left alone about it if they stayed in the bar. Megatron crooked a finger and strode for the door. Drift’s optics were wide, but he followed and even managed to smile a little at the mechs cheering them on. Megatron stayed silent as they were followed all the way to the lift.

From the back of the pack, Rodimus screamed, “Don’t do it, Drift!” Then the lift doors slid shut.

“Heh. Little do they know, huh?” Drift said from the far corner of the lift. He peeked up at Megatron from beneath the ridge of his helm, one hand rubbing the back of his neck.

Megatron snorted and crossed his arms, but old memories he hadn’t thought of in ages rushed him. Deadlock pinned against a wall, helm thrown back, growling his way through overload. Deadlock over him, hips rolling while he smirked at Megatron’s helpless moans. Deadlock’s cries echoing off the walls as his thighs clamped to Megatron’s helm, the taste of tangy-sweet lubricant on his tongue.

Dizzying arousal slammed into Megatron’s belly, and he had to reset his vocalizer to reply. “Indeed.”

Drift smirked, and for a moment he was all Deadlock again despite the different armor and blue optics. “So the whole crew, huh?” He fidgeted, fingers knotting together, and just like that the image broke.

“Most. I could see the merit in it.” Megatron shifted his weight to the other foot, fingers drumming lightly on his upper arm.

The lift doors opened as Drift chuckled, and Megatron led the way out and down the hall to his quarters while trying not to hear Deadlock in the sound. He wasn’t the same mech, and clearly Drift wasn’t either, but they did have a history. Megatron could feel a tingling, hot pressure in his array. Deadlock had always inspired lust, and they had never failed to drive one another mad with it. It would be no hardship to interface now, and it _had_ helped relax the others around him.

Once they were in his quarters, Megatron slapped the control panel to lock it and dragged Drift in close. Blue optics flared, but Drift didn’t pull away, so Megatron hooked one arm around his waist, gripped a red thigh with his other hand, and lifted the smaller mech up against him like he had countless times before. Their mouths crushed together and sharp claws dug into the plating of Megatron’s shoulders as he strode to his berth. Without breaking contract, Megatron laid Drift down, hips wedged between those thighs. The kiss was devouring, exactly like so long ago, but-

Something was missing. There was no hungry flare in Drift’s field. There was no need to override his own panel, Megatron realized. Oh the talons that raked his back were perfectly familiar, as was the little twist and wind of Drift’s hips under him, and the sharp teeth that scraped so perfectly over his lower lip.

So why was he cooling off?

Megatron lifted his helm and met the soft, unaroused blue of Drift’s optics. He huffed a laugh and shifted to the side. Drift rolled with him, helm on Megatron’s upper arm, and lips quirked into something of a smile. “We don’t have to do this.”

“I wouldn’t mind,” Drift replied instantly, his smaller frame comfortable against Megatron, especially as his field relaxed.

Megatron looked down to where his hand moved in slow, absent-minded strokes along Drift’s side. He reached a finger out to trace a transformation seam, and smiled to hear Drift’s vents catch. “I was angry for a very long time.”

“I figured that out when you sent Lockdown.”

“No.” Megatron returned his gaze to Drift’s. “No, after that. When I sent the bounty hunter, I was more angry at Turmoil driving you away than you for leaving him. Lockdown was supposed to bring you back willingly. It was that you had left _me_ that made me angry.” Or hurt, but he wasn’t going to say that out loud.

Drift stilled, but the true courage he’d spotted so long ago in the gutters was still there in this mech. He held Megatron’s gaze, and said softly, “You’d left the path.”

Megatron could only agree. “I don’t blame you for leaving. Anymore.”

They were silent for a moment, Megatron’s fingers kneading gently at Drift’s waist. “I heard your speech,” Drift said at length, his voice barely a whisper.

“Optimus’ speech,” Megatron corrected, but without any heat. “It was part of the deal.” One shoulder lifted in something of a shrug and pain banded around his spark. “You were right to leave.”

“You were right to stand up,” Drift said. Megatron met his optics again, heard the steel edge in his voice. “We went too far from the original goals, became what we fought against. We weren’t wrong to stand up in the first place though.”

Megatron shook his helm. “No. I don’t regret that.” He lifted his hand to trace the line of Drift’s cheek. “There are a few things I don’t.”

Drift smirked. “So… _most_ of the crew, huh? Least it hasn’t rusted off in my absence.”

Megatron laughed and rolled back over Drift. Graceful legs drew up and hooked over his hips, and he leaned down for another kiss. This one was slow, warm and real. Drift’s hands slid around the back of Megatron’s neck to hold him there. No claws this time. Megatron purred, letting the sound rumble through his chest as he reached one hand up to finger the delicate finial on Drift’s helm. Drift gasped and broke the kiss, hips winding up to rock against Megatron’s body while desire flared through his field. Megatron pressed his mouth to sensitive neck cables, nibbling lightly instead of biting like he would have before. Drift moaned, his hands tightening on Megatron’s shoulders.

“Start anew, shall we?”

“Yes,” Drift hissed in reply, then gave a short laugh. “Welcome me back properly.”

Megatron chuckled. “As you wish.” He wasn’t sure what this was or would become, or _if_ it would become something, but he was more than willing to show Drift how welcome he truly was.

New armor always left new sensitive spots to be discovered, but Megatron had already found one. Kisses were trailed up the side of Drift’s helm from his neck, then Megatron licked his way out to the point of a finial. Drift moaned as the point was gently sucked, then gasped, his panel releasing, when Megatron lightly nipped it.

“Fragger.” Drift panted and arched.

“In a hurry?” Megatron asked, then worked his way from one finial to the other, capturing Drift’s mouth for another consuming kiss as he did.

“No. Not really.” Drift tightened his hold, and Megatron could feel the slickness of lubricant against his plating as he laved attention on the delicate sensor’s tip.

Megatron waited until Drift whimpered and squirmed under him, then left off to work his way lower. He mouthed the side of Drift’s neck, teeth scraping in an echo of the harder play they used to engage in, then he moved on.

Or tried to.

Drift gripped his helm, fingers curled under the edges, his optics deepest blue as he met Megatron’s gaze. “Maybe I’m in a little bit of a hurry.”

Megatron retracted his panel, spike extending to brush along the naked surface of Drift’s array. His own vents hitched, but Drift’s optics had fallen shut and a low sound rolled free. “I suppose we can afford to be a little impatient this time.”

Drift writhed, trying to push himself down as his hips wound in an effort to blindly capture Megatron’s spike against the rim of his valve. Maybe some things didn’t change after all. Megatron braced himself over Drift on one elbow, gripped his hip to hold him still with the other, then lined his spike up with the valve opening. The first ring of calipers spread, then clenched, and Drift’s vents cycled faster.

“Hurt?” Megatron asked.

“No. Too good. Been a while.”

Megatron held where he was, waiting, and after a moment, Drift relaxed. “Yes?”

“Frag, yes. Stop teasing.”

“Teasing, he says,” Megatron grumbled with a smile. Primus, his lines were on fire, his spike practically throbbed, and Drift said _he_ was teasing? “Far be it from me to tease.” He pushed in slowly, and grinned when Drift keened. “Better?”

Drift opened his mouth to reply, but nothing came out beyond a wordless moan as Megatron withdrew, then plunged back in. Micromesh encased his spike, and calipers rippled and twitched all along the length. Drift was wet and hot, and his valve clutched tight in a way that made Megatron’s systems blaze with the pleasure.

“Move,” Drift gasped and rolled his hips up and back. “Megatron, please!”

There was no resisting that, and Megatron moaned as he moved, the sound deep and resonant. He drew back, then thrust in a little harder. Then again, and again, until each thick plunge swept a new wave of bliss throughout his body. The rhythm and feel of their motion stole all thought. All Megatron could hear was the rasp of their vents and the metal on metal whisper of their plating sliding together. Drift had gone quiet, and Megatron tipped his helm in to lick up that finial. He could feel the hitch and jutter in Drift’s movements as need overtook him, made him chase after his overload. Megatron thrust harder, growling as his sensornet buzzed and that aching, tingling pressure built under the base of his spike.

“Please,” Drift whispered, and his claws bit into Megatron’s back. “Please.” His thighs trembled against Megatron’s hips, valve squeezing even tighter.

Megatron growled again, teeth clenched against the rising wave as he ground in deep, trying to hit all the nodes and give Drift what he needed.

Drift bucked up hard, flung his helm back, and screamed. Present and distant memory collided in Megatron as his spike was held in a perfect grip. Calipers rolled up the length, squeezing and releasing, and Megatron let go. He drew back just far enough to thrust in, then wound his hips around and held deep. Drift’s respiration caught, and he cried out again, valve milking Megatron’s release from him. He melted over the smaller mech with a long, deep moan as heat and ecstasy filled him. For a timeless moment he floated, Drift’s soft, pleasured whimpers guiding him down.

Megatron tipped his helm and caught Drift’s lower lip in a soft kiss, then pulled out so he could flop onto his side. The smaller mech lay sprawled, respiration running hard, optics shut. “Feeling welcome?”

Drift snickered, then groaned as he rolled toward Megatron and tucked himself in against his chest. “Somewhat. After a nap, you can finish the job.”

Megatron snorted a laugh and wound his arms around Drift to hold him close. This was familiar as well, and something that had still been tense and tight under his spark eased and unknotted. He had trusted Deadlock implicitly. He had been the _one_ mech Megatron felt safe recharging with in the violence and turmoil his life had become during the early days of the war, and he had been honored with the same gift of trust in return. As Drift’s systems slowed and his body relaxed even more, Megatron smiled and purred softly, content to rest their helms together and listen to Drift’s systems quietly hum in recharge. That he could still have this gave him hope. That Drift was willing to lie in his arms while so vulnerable galvanized Megatron’s determination to be better than he had become. He pressed a light kiss to one of those delicate finials, grinning more as Drift squirmed and mumbled, then settled in for a nap of his own.


End file.
